Church of Hot Addiction
by Anneklok
Summary: Post 4.10 "Heaven and Hell" No matter how hard Dean tries to digest the past it's still tearing him apart. While they look for the next job Castiel arrives with bad tidings and good intentions. Angels with their grace in tact do it best. Dean/Castiel
1. Chapter 1

Thanks to my lovely beta and my long suffering bffl who assisted with the title. I got a lot of inspiration checking for different Castiel/Dean fanmixes and looking up the songs other people felt expressed their dynamic. I have to wholeheartedly agree with one song that had been recommended. Placebo's "Running Up That Hill" really worked. I played "Breath" by Breaking Benjamin, "Your Guardian Angel" by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, and a lot of different songs by Muse.

And this is my first attempt at Dean/Castiel. Hollar!

* * *

Castiel stood leaning against the heavy wood frame of the cabin's entry door. His eyes swept the room; his chin nodding ever so slightly letting on that he'd even turned his head. He stood in silence, observing the brothers – the Winchesters – each in repose. They'd gotten a rented room and as per usual shared a room with two beds. At least, this is how Castiel had seen them more often than not. Sam sat on top of his sheets, legs bowed open, feet planted on the floor. He looked uncomfortable and somehow dwarfed the full size bed. He had been talking to Dean, staring intently at his older sibling. Dean had stretched out the length of the mattress, with his head propped on the bed's two pillows stacked. He hadn't even taken off his jacket or boots.

Castiel did not sense the presence of any other in the room. His brow wrinkled and he narrowed his eyes. He'd expected to see more than just the two. He'd anticipated and prepared for an awkward interruption if Sam had Ruby with him. He continued to stare at the men, still unaware of his entrance.

"Dean, I'm just asking," said Sam, his tone more than a hint defensive.

"And I still don't have an answer, Sammy," Dean replied in a weary voice.

Dean lifted his hands to his cheeks and rubbed his face, paying extra attention to the corners of his eyes.

"Maybe Castiel can shed some light on that. Whenever he decides to grace us with his presence, no pun intended, I'll ask him,"

Sam sighed in agreement and lifted his hands to his mouth, cupping them and nodding thoughtfully – still processing the question he had asked. He lifted his head, taking his eyes off Dean and that's when he caught sight of the angel, standing by the cabin door.

"SHIT!" Sam yelped, his body jerking back in response to the shock.

Sam stood up abruptly from his bed, the farthest from the door and his hazel eyes locked with the stern angel's blue eyes. Dean twisted his head in alarm, looking at the door even as his hand flew to the edge of the mattress, where he'd predictably already stowed his shotgun between the mattress and box spring in case they had unwelcome company.

"Castiel," said Sam in a tone that captured both observation and question.

"Seriously?" Dean asked the trench coat clad figure with an acerbic hiss to his voice.

Castiel stared at him, still expressionless, without even the notion of a smirk at the shock he'd just caused. Dean struggled up to sitting, putting his back against the solid wood headboard. He groaned as he rose, noting Castiel's lack of response and wondering if it were a calculated response in of itself.

"When are you going to get the hang of knocking on the door?" Dean asked, trying again to incur some form of expression – something more lighthearted than the unwavering stare.

"We need to talk," came the reply from Castiel in the normal voice of his vessel – a low rasp two-steps above a whisper, practically monotone.

Sam looked from Castiel to Dean. Dean eyed the angel and looked back to Sam. Castiel straightened his back and leaned forward away from the door frame.

"I know what happened between you and Anna, Dean."

If Castiel were capable of looking any more stern and solemn than usual, he probably would have. His tone left the air icy. Dean pursed his lips and swallowed, collecting his thoughts currently spinning in a trashy montage sequence behind his eyes – reliving the night in the Impala from the gentle words leaving Anna's lips all the way to the sleepy kisses he'd pressed against her skin as they nodded off together in the backseat. Castiel's eyes squinted and he peered at Dean. Sam crossed his arms and looked down at his brother, following Castiel's lead.

"Yeah, well…" Dean offered raising a hand as he shrugged, feigning apathy at the statement.

"More importantly," Castiel continued following his charge's response, "God knows as well,"

"Is he upstairs putting another mark on my report card of sin? Tell him not to put down the pencil. There's more where that came from," Dean retorted turning his head so he no longer stared at Castiel, but ahead at his feet or the wall, anywhere but at the probing blue eyes, locked on him.

"It's hardly a joke," the angel remarked, now fully utilizing his solemn stoic tone to its fullest extent.

"Neither is hell. I get it. I don't expect the creator of an army of junkless birds to understand,"

"And here you are walking the fine line of respect and colorful commentary,"

Dean's breath hitched. Sam looked wildly from brother to angel. Castiel took a step forward from the doorway. Sam gulped and cleared his throat to camouflage his growing discomfort with the situation of a clearly edgy Castiel and a cocky rebellious sharp tongued Dean.

"What is this God guy's problem anyway? He knew who he was pulling out of the pit."

Castiel continued to walk toward the bed where Dean laid stretched out, avoiding turning his head in either Sam or Castiel's direction. His eyes could have bored holes into the reclined and seemingly relaxed man with the distressed spiky light brown hair, comical wise ass grin, and sparkling green eyes.

"I don't question the Lord. He knows you inside and out. I question your judgment in light of all that you now know."

"Judgment," Dean laughed haughtily, "Nice choice of words. You guys are really big on judgment – pointing fingers – and all the do-not's."

"Forgiveness, Dean," Castiel interrupted, now at Dean's bedside, towering over him, much like Sam, feet planted so he wavered between both beds, unsure of whether to leave or stay.

"Huh?" Dean snorted, with another arrogant chuckle, disbelieving that he had anything coming to him from Castiel other than chastising.

"I said forgiveness," Castiel repeated taking his statement quite literally, "The Lord forgives and the Lord knows your steps before you take them. He still chose to have you resurrected. Even still He gave me my orders."

"Great, so he knows about me and Anna, but he forgives. Wonderful. Tell him thanks. I appreciate him not holding my sex life against me,"

Sam turned his gaze from Dean, to the wall, taking in the decorations made to the cabin walls by the owners. He nearly began to whistle to diffuse the tension in the air, but instead pressed his lips together and tried to remain as quiet and fly on the wall like as possible.

Castiel focused in on Dean for a moment and his expression relaxed to the unaffected gentle expression that he generally wore.

"You still don't understand,"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Well, dancing around what you're trying to say and being cryptic is kind of lost on me."

"Redundancy," Castiel said quietly. "And, there are things you must know."

"And you're going to tell me," Dean said with another roll of his eyes, before crossing his arms and his feet, again forcing the idea of him being completely comfortable, "And we're all going to be completely shocked and maybe we'll bond. Sam might cry. I'll probably throw around some pretty heavy langua-"

Castiel put two fingers to Dean's forehead and Dean immediately toppled over. Castiel sighed and took a seat on the bed beside the unconscious man, putting his back to both Dean and Sam. He folded his hands, interlacing his fingers, looking down at his lap. Sam stood still and looked down at Dean with concern. His brow furrowed in concern and his eyes widened.

"You knocked him out?"

"He's sleeping," Castiel answered, unsure of Sam's exact meaning, and wanting at all times to be honest and specific.

"He'll be okay?" Sam pressed, "Why'd you…"

"He will be fine," Castiel said, turning his head to look over his shoulder, "And I think Dean required what you refer to as a 'time out'."

Sam smirked, his lips breaking apart to reveal a toothy grin, and his face allowing for laugh lines to appear from the corners of his mouth to the bridge of his nose. He began to laugh and took a step from the side of the bed.

"Oh, it's been a long time since I've seen anyone put Dean in time out."

He walked around to the foot of Dean's bed and smugly looked down at Dean's sleeping form.

"I don't want to be here when he wakes up. Time out is going to send him through the roof."

Sam shook his head slightly at Dean and straightened as he lifted his eyes up and caught Castiel staring back at him. Sam continued on his path, walking away from the beds and toward the cabin door.

"Good luck with that. If I come back and find a trail of blood and feathers, I know how that one turned out for you,"

Castiel did not respond. He watched Sam, twist the door knob and step outside, into the chilly weather. He heard the door shut and the crunch of Sam's footsteps on the earth beneath his feet. With Sam a safe distance from the cabin, Castiel turned back to look at Dean and adjusted his body so that he knelt on the bed beside Dean. Castiel shut his eyes - the beautiful blue depths of his vessel, the kind eyes of a saint and one of two ways he perceived Dean. Eyes closed he had none of the distractions that the gift of sight also caused.

Dean's eyes opened and he gulped a breath. He'd woken with a start and found instead of walking toward him, Castiel sat beside him on the bed's mattress. He blinked and focused his sight, noting Castiel had shut his eyes.

"Nice." Dean remarked sarcastically, "You start to lose the argument and you knock me out. Where I come from that's avoidance AND being a sore loser,"

"Where I come from its called letting God's messenger speak,"

"Well, that would make you the postal worker for a myth. So, speak now or forever, and I want you to know that I mean forever, hold your peace,"

Castiel raised his eyelids, revealing his eyes turned upwards, avoiding looking directly at Dean.

"What? You need a cheat sheet from above?" Dean prodded, the few minutes of a nap and pseudo time out having done nothing to curb his sardonic sense of humor turned style of verbal warfare.

"I need to tell you the truth and it is not a truth easy to tell," Castiel answered with finality, now lowering his gaze from ceiling to the wall just beyond Sam's bed.

Dean's smile faded and in its place a frown, followed by a furrowed brow signaling confusion and interest.

"Anna told me everything." Dean remarked, "She got her grace back. I bet that's a slap in the face after the doom and gloom 'she must be destroyed' trip you and Junkless went on, but really – you Angels are really sore losers,"

"The history," Castiel explained, ignoring all of Dean's comments, "between Anna and I. That is something I am sure she did not tell you,"

Dean remained silent the tip of tongue pinched between the bottom and top rows of his teeth. He held it there to prevent any more words from slipping out. He really could barely trust himself to respectfully object to the being who had twice threatened to throw him back into hell. This subject and the implied judgment for his actions really got under his skin.

"You know by now that I served beneath her." Castiel said, pausing and again raising his eyes to the ceiling of the cabin, "She chose to remove her grace. She fell. She became human. She lived as one of you,"

"All things I know," Dean responded.

"She left in the midst of battle," Castiel added.

"What kind of battle,"

"A battle that began in heaven and moved on to the earth,"

"Demons," said Dean. "She left in the middle of a battle with demons,"

"Alistair, and a whole host," Castiel confirmed, his eyes never leaving from Dean, "I lost many of my brother's in that battle,"

Dean sucked in a breath, a heavy breath, and for more than just precious oxygen sake.

"And she did what?"

"She did as she must have explained to you. She removed her grace and cast it to earth and fell to be born as a mortal,"

"I don't understand. The big reveal is that she left in the middle of a battle,"

Castiel stared back at Dean. Dean grew uncomfortable under the scrutinizing pair of eyes. He stared back, willing Castiel to concede first and speak.

"I need more of an explanation that that," Dean conceded impatient for the conversation to be over with and impatient to be left alone without further questioning about his actions and motives.

"I can show you," Castiel said raising his right hand, the hand closest to Dean.

Dean pulled back from Castiel.

"I'd prefer if you didn't. Use some adjectives like the rest of us and explain it,"

And the glassy blue eyed stare dropped interrogating the bedspread rather than Dean.

"I cannot fully make you understand the gravity of the situation. You have been in fights. You've battled demons before. You cannot imagine the sight of angels and demons in battle. It is akin to your famous Civil War."

"Brother against brother," Dean summarized, before a snide smile crossed his lips unchecked, "Hey, didn't the demons used to be you guys?"

Castiel lifted his chin and flashed Dean a cold stare – an actual expression, and not the most pleasant sight of course.

"The disobedient and the prideful had been cast out after waging war on God and Heaven. They used to be angels, yes. The stories are true; Lucifer led the rebellion in an attempt to take the Lord's throne, the angels who he had swayed to his side were beaten in a battle and they along with Lucifer were cast out of Heaven."

Castiel shut his eyes, pausing in his tale. Dean watched him and remained silent.

"Originally they fell to Earth."

"Great," Dean complained in a low voice, cutting his eyes from Castiel as he huffed.

"Lucifer and the entire legion, but it did not last. And what I said about time's ability to bend,"

"Yes,"

"Lucifer fell to Earth and chaos erupted. I and other angels believed that without grace an angel would become mortal – completely. We believe we had reduced the army that rose against heaven to ineffectual mortals only capable of destruction on Earth or redemption, and we prayed for the latter. Instead, as happened with Anna, even a fallen angel will retain some sort of powers without their grace. Lucifer and his host became what we now know as demons. "

"What does this have to do with time?"

"Hell on earth began and we battled. It was during this battle that Anna abandoned her post and her company. In this battle, we were again victorious. When we bent time, Michael the Archangel, cleft the fabric of time – the result being hell,"

"Whoa," Dean protested, letting out a laugh, "That makes zero sense. Hell is a place, but you're telling me it's a time rift.

"A time rift that exists covered in literally every kind of lock imaginable."

"The seals," Dean sighed.

"And if the seals are opened and Lucifer walks free,"

"The fissure in time is torn,"

"And there is hell on earth, quite literally,"

Dean sat in silence, his breath picking up as he processed the words. Castiel sat patiently, fixing his eyes on Dean's green orbs. He watched the rise and fall of Dean's chest. He could hear the thub-glub-thub of Dean's heart muscle pumping in the useless red fluid and pumping out oxygenated life's milk. He felt all this within his vessel body, but in a sense it sounded better the way he heard it happening through Dean. He watched the face of his charge, the gravity provoking his set jaw to clench tight. Dean's lip twitched and he tore his eyes from Castiel, looking away at the bed, the wall, the ceiling, anywhere but the angel who had, yet again, torn the rug of what he thought he knew from under his feet.

"And the point of the history lesson and what happened between Anna and I, is?"

"We don't know what she became, before she cut out her grace and was reborn as a human."

"What?"

"4 months here became 40 years in hell, Dean."

"Well, that makes sense now that you've explained I was caught in time's biggest pothole,"

"The disparity is in time between the battle and rebirth."

"You're saying she is a demon,"

"We don't know. We never knew for sure."

"She wasn't a demon. She could enter Bobby's panic room,"

"She isn't an angel, whatever she became,"

"Human is what she became and newsflash, I'm no angel either,"

Castiel stared.

"Where is she?" Dean asked.

"I suppose where those of us with our grace can go,"

"You don't know?"

"I am not omniscient. That is for God and God alone,"

"And you don't even have a guess. You guys don't have Angel CNN?"

"I am telling you that we do not know –"

"She saved all our asses!" Dean shouted, "Have you forgotten about that!"

"I watched with my own eyes,"

"Those aren't yours, showoff,"

Castiel squinted and the slight hint of the curve of a smile flashed before his eyes relaxed to their usual state.

"Jealousy?"

"Whatever," Dean deflected.

"You are jealous," the angel affirmed, "that is something I did not anticipate,"

"Well, you said it before. I'm not a 'special person'. "Dean remarked.

"I meant that you didn't have the gift to hear or see my heavenly visage. It wasn't a statement of your worth or valor,"

"Yeah, I got that. Either way, Anna isn't a demon so don't worry, all your heavenly secrets above are safe if she's even in Heaven,"

"God's laws have been broken. Disobedience is a punishable offense,"

"So let them rip out her grace and throw her back down here,"

"Time has changed since she abandoned us, Dean. She won't be coming back here,"

Dean's eyes went wide. Castiel faintly heard Dean's heart seize. Before he could inquire about the misfire of the cardiac muscle's constriction and release, Dean snapped at him angrily.

"You'd throw her into hell for finding a loophole and cheating the system!"

"The decision is not mine to make."

"You agree!"

"I obey. That is my task. A good soldier obeys, Dean."

"Bullshit!" Dean shouted, shoving his body away from Castiel's, turning and swinging his legs off the bed.

Dean rose to standing and took a hard swing at the lamp between the two beds. It flew from the table and bounced against the pillows that he had just abandoned. Furious, he reached for the lamp and lifted it, flinging it ahead of him at the wall.

"Dean,"

"No! She took back her grace for us, for all of us, and she's going to burn in hell for it. She knew that! And you're just going to sit there and whine about how she left a battle. Well you know what, you guys are all holy fuckheads and I probably would have left you, too!"

Castiel rose to standing.

"Flash your wings, knock me unconscious." He lifted his arm, pointing a finger from his fist at Castiel, "You know I am right about this. You know somewhere in that brainwashed head of yours that an eternity in hell is not what she deserves,"

Castiel took a step back from Dean and the bed.

"What?" Dean shouted, "Going to run home and tell dad!"

The angel stood still and blinked. He waited. Dean stalked around the foot of his bed, walking toward Castiel. He shuddered with rage as he moved and could barely talk with his breathing so erratic. Even the muscles in his face twitched out of control.

"She was not a demon. She was human. And as you remember, Ruby was also a witch – a human witch - before becoming a demon. I am trying to explain to you the concern that I share. A demon can be bound by containment charms, can be burned by holy water, is vulnerable to exorcism. A human cannot be affected by these things."

"Neither can an angel,"

"But an angel cannot bleed."

Dean could recall the cut wrists, the blood scrawled symbols reminiscent of rune or cuniform. Anna had written them in her blood. She looked at him with big round innocent eyes and in a shrill fearful voice told him she didn't know how she knew. Dean bit his bottom lip. Castiel reached out and covered Dean's shoulder with his hand. The contact that could have easily been brought down with enough force to cripple felt too gentle to be only human.

"We don't know where she went between the time she left us in battle to the time she fell to Earth to be reborn."

Dean swallowed and silently nodded his head to Castiel.

"We have little knowledge of fact to base our judgment. You call it blind ignorance to be so obedient to the law. It is merely an insurance of survival. The biting words that suggest I could not comprehend the emotion of sorrow – "

Castiel's voice dropped and he lowered his eyes to Dean's hands, hanging lax at his sides, his fists clenched. Castiel lifted only his eyes, questioning Dean with his expression.

"Castiel," Dean began, his voice nearly a whisper, low and throaty ridden with new found guilt.

Castiel spoke, again, before Dean could articulate the feelings behind his bold green eyes.

"I too have watched my brother die, struck down in battle,"

The words cold as ice came from Castiel's mouth and burned their way through Dean, straight to his chest. The thub-glub-thub quickened its pace. Castiel recognized the look in the intense jade spheres looking intently at him, for absolution rather than factual answers.

"Nervous?" he questioned, his voice dropping to just one step away from a whisper.

"Awkward," Dean answered.

"Hm," Castiel replied with a satisfied shrug and soft smile.

"What?"

"Nothing,"

"No. What?"

"Your emotions," Castiel explained, "They're so varied. One is not unlike the other and at the same time it seems some are just a shade apart. Then from one human to another, unique all the same,"

"Awkward because this whole heart-to-heart has made me nervous. Somewhere out there might be a loophole using double agent working both sides, and I slept with her, because I trusted her and I needed her,"

"You needed –" the angel stopped, uneasily changing his expression from confident to confused, "a confidant, an equal,"

Dean cocked his head slightly in question.

"You don't think?" Dean began unable to complete his question.

Castiel turned, putting his back to Dean.

"Answer me," Dean stammered, "Do you think she was in the pit before throwing out her grace?"

"Dean," Castiel said in a hushed tone, "I truly wish you had laid your burdens upon me. I could have helped."

Dean tossed his head back and groaned loudly. "It all comes back to that. Why again does it matter that I fucked her to feel better about everything I did or saw in hell!"

He gasped in frustration and looked back, but predictably he found himself alone in the cabin with only the distant sound of a flurry of something flapping in the sky to alert him to the fact he'd been deserted quite suddenly.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean rolled over in his sleep. The noise of his skin rustling against the low thread count cotton sheets permeated the quiet in the cabin that the brothers had rented. Instead of a motel they'd splurged, needing a few days to recover, research and in Dean's case, apparently, rest as much as possible. Sam had been doing the bulk of the research, as per usual.

Finally, night had come giving Dean a reasonable excuse to be lying in bed again in a deep sleep, allowing Sam to be a little less concerned about his brother. Sam lay to Dean's right in the second bed, bundled in covers, breathing in deep rhythmic sighs. Neither knew of the visitor standing between the beds.

Castiel's attention fell to Dean. The process fascinated him as he'd never experienced true sleep filled with dreams and the like. He watched the movement behind Dean's eyelids, the thin delicate shells of skin protecting his green eyes, and noticed how even the most minute movement caused his eyelashes to flutter against his bottom lids. Castiel kept his respectful distance though his mind wandered at what he might see if he could somehow peer into the sleeping world. If he could reach out and simply cup Dean's forehead and be transported into his thoughts – could he even understand without the capacity of full spectrum human emotions?

"Wake," he whispered, grudgingly, knowing that Dean would feel wronged by the disruption to what looked like a peaceful enough sleep.

"Whoa!" Dean half snarled, suddenly sitting up, flushed, gasping with a startled look.

Now wide awake he gulped in a breath and immediately twisted full body to look at Sam, still asleep in the other bed. Having confirmed the safety of his younger brother, he let out the breath he'd sucked in. Slowly, he twisted back around and rolled onto his back. He heaved another sigh and struggled to swallow and wet his tongue finding his mouth dry.

"Cas?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes, with the heel of one hand.

His original wide eyed alarmed expression had relaxed into a half lidded sleepy unfocused glare.

"I had to go," Castiel informed Dean, explaining his previous hasty departure.

"Where's your homeboy, Uriel?" Dean asked. "Shouldn't he be lurking around overzealous with his smiting stick?"

"Uriel is no threat to you," Castiel replied, taking a seat on the edge of Dean's bed, causing Dean to shift his legs, making more room, "I hold rank above him, remember."

"How come you're always so quick to point out that you stand between me and hell?" Dean asked, half jokingly.

Castiel's expression did not change and he remained seated, thoughtfully continuing to stare back at Dean.

"Do you know where Anna is?" Dean added, quickly changing the subject.

"Not yet."

"You'd think God would have some sort of GPS on you guys."

"Obedience used to suffice," Castiel added, now hanging his head, taking what sounded like a breath to Dean.

Dean remained silent, waiting for Castiel to improve upon his statement or change the subject back to the more pressing topics. Instead, he watched the figure before him, straighten in posture and lift his head, turning to face him. Even in the darkened room of this small cabin, Dean could make out the eyes staring back at him and the curve of lips permanently frozen in a non specific straight line – not a frown, not a smirk, just a mouth on a face.

"And so you woke me up to tell me that you got nothing?"

Rather than offer another explanation Castiel sat initially silent still devoid of more than grave seriousness.

"I apologize," came the monotone answer to Dean's question.

"You don't sleep do you?" Dean asked rhetorically, "No of course not. So you have no idea what it was like to be getting an actual peaceful sleep for once."

With that surly complaint the angel remained in silence. Dean couldn't make out well in the dark what the ethereal soldier's facial expressions were. He had witness on numerous occasions that the angel had few and none that would radiate more than seriousness, concern, confidence or faintly worried. Dean hadn't searched for more than a fleeting smirk, but he hoped one day he would catch a more lighthearted look that would let him know if he did make it up to heaven he could still have a sense of humor.

"I wanted to know what you were going to ask me, earlier. When I arrived you had been talking to Sam. He'd asked you something and you said you would ask me when I, no pun intended, graced you with my presence,"

Dean's cheeks flushed and again, even in the dark room, Castiel could make out the change in complexion to ruddy.

"You really wouldn't find it half as amusing considering what we spent the evening discussing," Dean answered, turning his head so his cheek rested against the pillow, another deflection.

"I find nothing amusing," came the response, followed by another serious sincere question. "What was it?"

"How do angels, you know?" Dean asked quickly.

With Dean avoiding Castiel's gaze, cheek to the pillow and eyes staring off at the door to the cabin - Castiel now smirked. He held silent prompting Dean to speak again filling the silence that to him seemed awkward.

"I mean, you're all junkless, so can you even have little cherubs or whatever?"

Castiel responded, the smirk fading with his genuine answer to the question.

"We're somewhat under equipped to experience the act in the sense that you understand it,"

Dean sniggered at the statement. With a grin he looked up at Castiel.

"The way we experience the act is hands down the best way to experience the act. Is it like the Coneheads; you guys just bump halos and that's it?"

Castiel looked back at Dean questioningly. "Coneheads?"

"Hah! So you do have Halos!" Dean excitedly concluded, lifting his head from the pillow with a smile.

"No, we actually don't, Dean," Castiel replied, deadpan, the humor completely lost on the angel.

"Okay, well, do you guys get married and have kids or what? I'm sure an unwed angel kid is unheard of up there where obedience is the new pink,"

"I don't follow,"

Dean now completely rose from lying on his side, cheek to the pillow. His voice came soft from his lips with all the seriousness in his tone that Castiel usually possessed.

"Do you guys have kids? That's what Sam and I were talking about. That's what he wanted me to find out."

"We don't have children. We are all individually authored by God,"

"So then what's with the sex?" Dean quickly asked.

"As I said, it isn't sex. We don't experience the act the same way that you understand it. It's unspoken. It's a commitment to –"

Dean waited expectantly, but Castiel stared off lost in thought.

"To what?"

"I don't know the words for it." The angel replied, eyes trained on Dean, but looking far beyond him, somewhere in angelic thought, "It's difficult to explain in your human terms,"

Dean turned over, putting his back to Castiel. "You sure can be one belittling sonofabitch some times,"

"We don't have an equivalent to your Eros love. We are soldiers for the most part. We have a job to do and we do it. We don't have emotions that get in the way. It helps in battle. Our version is much less poetic in your opinion I am sure."

"You guys switch flaming swords and bump halos?" Dean suggested.

The answer came with only a faint hint of amusement for the quick witted banter Dean interjected into the serious discussion. "Something like that. When I find the words, you'll be the first to know,"

Dean and Castiel both remained silent. The angel still fully clad in his uniform of sorts, gazed down, unaware of Dean's growing unease at the silence hanging between them.

"So," Dean bated, dragging out the syllable. "Anything else?"

Castiel did not move from his, for lack of a better word, perch on the edge of the bed. His impassive expression darkened noticeably. He seemed to be searching for his words and Dean raised an eyebrow realizing that he no longer held court as the part of the pair able to avoid a difficult conversation.

"There is," he hesitated, his voice lowering with a hint of contempt, "something,"

Dean leaned back to the pillow and lifted his arms to cross them behind his head, getting comfortable to hear what he had already decided he would not enjoy. He looked at Castiel with an expectant expression.

"There is a problem with Anna's grace returned to her," Castiel's voice wavered, "One of the seals,"

Dean groaned and looked away, his face disgusted.

Castiel continued "And what happened in the car –"

"That was a seal too!" Dean balked, twisting back around looking up at Castiel in disbelief.

Beside them Sam stirred with a low groan, barely on the cusp of waking. Castiel's eyes had shifted to the younger Winchester as well. When they returned to focus on Dean, they softened. Dean glared back at Castiel, annoyed.

"Anything else I can't do while I'm back on earth?" he criticized more than genuinely asked.

Castiel ignored him and explained the significance of the seal.

"Blaspheme of coupling between the resurrected and the fallen."

Nodding his head toward Sam, Castiel offered a diminutive consolation rather than appear to be chastising Dean. "It wouldn't be the first time,"

"We broke a seal twice?" asked Dean.

"Two seals," Castiel answered with a nod.

"Which puts them at what –" Dean blew out a breath feigning rough calculations in his head before morosely hurling out his figure, "Ten seals down, fifty to go,"

"Quite the opposite," Castiel exhaled, looking away, from wall to floor to window.

Dean watched the handsome angel's disposition change becoming, as he originally thought impossible, more somber. Dean pulled his arms from behind his head and shifted his hips, inching backward to hoist his torso so he could prop up on his elbows, half sitting, half reclined. He focused on Castiel, the softened expression beneath the world weary features – stubbly cheeks and evidence of frown lines across his worried brow and the corners of his impassive mouth.

"If I had known a seal would be broken -" Dean began intent to offer his excuse.

His voice trailed into silence, halted by the stern expression on Castiel's face. He swallowed uncomfortably having failed to complete the apology. He broke eye contact with Castiel. The words would not easily leave his lips.

Dean pondered just how to eloquently phrase the tryst with Anna to this holy being. Shame and guilt had previously been small parts of his vocabulary. Since waking in that coffin and spending months absorbing what had happened over the course of his perception of 40 years – trying to accept it as fact and then purge the truth by any means necessary. The burden that came with the reality had been guilt and shame. Those twins had become frequent responses of his when posed with a short coming or a weakness.

Dean raised his eyes and blinked.

"Whatever. If I knew I wouldn't have done it," Dean finished, clumsily.

He had no desire to talk about the night, the events in the Impala, Anna or Hell. He'd gotten the forecast from the Holy Weather Man and he hoped to leave it at that. The nagging guilt however had already written itself over his expression. He avoided turning his eyes in the direction of the penetrating stare that had been upon him since before he glanced away.

"If I were to condemn you would it change anything, Dean?" asked the angel in a whisper keen to the obvious emotions coursing through his charge.

Dean contemplated and tightened his jaw. He thought of his father wistfully. They'd rarely had this type of heart to heart. He never realized how grateful he'd been for that. His stomach turned as he stole a glance at Castiel eyes open wide and searching, reading him the way that made him the most uncomfortable.

Without waiting for much of a response, Castiel simply continued. "No. It would not change anything."

He paused before persisting in his explanation, voice methodical and precise, in tandem with his nature.

"There is healing in forgiveness. Condemnation has no part in that,"

Dean stiffened at the word 'condemnation'. He kept his eyes trained on the corner of the wall where it met the ceiling, high above Sam's bed. Condemnation sounded a stones throw from damnation and Dean truly wished to avoid touching upon that subject. It was as if the angel had probed his earlier thoughts for a way to get beneath Dean's skin and garner a reaction. Dean considered the possibility.

"Mind stepping out of my head, Dr. Phil," Dean demanded.

Castiel's head tilted slightly to the side, curious. It reminded Dean of an innocent yet incorrigibly annoying puppy who kept digging holes after being repeatedly swatted with a newspaper.

"I'm not buying your innocent act," Dean hissed, "So stop it. You want to have a 'moment' and bond, that's great. I don't. Not with you. I can barely handle it with him," Dean nodded toward Sam, shifting his narrowed eyes finally back to Castiel, who had yet to take his eyes off Dean, staring now impassively with his head level rather than cocked.

"I don't enter your thoughts," Castiel noted, without any hint of defensiveness or requirement to placate. "I do not have to. You give yourself away."

Dean turned his eyes downward, examining first the sheets and then the cabin floor. Again, that stubborn guilt reared only this time for being so quick to accuse. He wondered if he'd ever become used to it. Every time the pang hit, erupting somewhere in his middle, traveling fast through his extremities before settling down like an anchor in his chest and his mind to add to the weight of the world on his shoulders, he felt less and less like his old self.

At an impasse of stubborn silence or revealing as little as possible, Dean chose the latter. He couldn't argue with a being who had called him on being too obvious. Dean mentally cursed his expressive face and silently hoped that some of the stern emotionless qualities of Castiel would be easily learned.

Dean gulped and briefly shut his eyes, digging for the nerve to allow the words to leave his lips.

"The things I saw in hell,"

Dean's voice deep and gravelly became ragged. He slightly stammered as he continued.

"and the things I did …"

Dean shook his head and swallowed clearing his throat needlessly, a clever diversion to hide his voice's tremor of emotion.

"There are no words, Castiel,"

Rarely did Dean ever sound so formal or grave and that fact was not lost on Castiel as unaware of emotions as he usually seemed. Dean bowed his head and averted his eyes now by squeezing them shut.

"No one can understand what I have done. Sam can't and he shouldn't. I became weak down there. **I **_fell_**.**" He emphasized.

The raw emotion of self loathing changed with tempestuous speed to anger. He bit his words out through gritted teeth, balling his fists as he continued with his explanation.

"I carry this guilt every where, all the time, no matter where I go or what I am doing. I know what I did down there. I didn't just slip." he growled, seething, "Ten years. I did this for ten years,"

"Dean," Castiel interrupted causing Dean to look up peering from one eye hesitantly.

The angel with penetrating cobalt stare reached out his hand sliding it palm down across the bed covers. Dean watched, his lip twitching, as he fought to remain as controlled as possible.

"Though I cannot fully understand the pain and your burden…"

Dean remained propped up on his elbows, watching Castiel lean forward, with hand extended, bridging the gap between them. With his head bowed and hands balled into fists he felt fingers curl around the white knuckle tightly formed fists. Dean flinched, shutting his eyes tight in order to conceal it. He let out a deep withheld breath. He wanted to speak. His mind urged his lips to order Castiel not to touch him, not even so much as to cover Dean's hand with his.

"I entered that pit." Castiel stated as a reminder rather than a depreciation of Dean's confession to him, "I _felt_ the horror and the pain." He emphasized the word to define the literal translation rather than the common mortal euphemism, "I know of Hell. I knew long before I received my orders to descend and raise you from death and from damnation."

The word struck a chord and Dean set his jaw narrowly avoiding what could have been deemed a whimper. Castiel's low toned voice filtered smoothly into Dean's ears. He sat up fully and made the first attempt to pull away, twisting his wrist as he leaned back toward the wall.

"And yet you still refuse to accept what is offered?" Castiel questioned in wonder with the tone of warm sincerity in his voice.

Dean's lips formed a disbelieving snarl as he shook his head, "This is a trick,"

"And a better example of truth is the affection you shared with a stranger, who until days ago knew nothing of you and you nothing of her."

Castiel to Dean's knowledge had never come back with a less gentle word, except for his threat of throwing Dean back into hell.

Dean groaned, relaxing his arm, resigning to the contact of Castiel's hand gripping his fist. "I wanted…"

Dean began, but stopped himself. The words he had shouted just as Castiel left the cabin earlier that day suddenly did not seem a fitting explanation. He wondered if Castiel had caught them before disappearing. Dean sighed.

Castiel reached with his other hand, pressing his palm to Dean's sweat dampened cheek. He released Dean's fist and cupped the other cheek. He then tilted Dean's head back and waited, passively, looking over the strained features and the exhaustion they displayed.

"You wanted to feel like you were not alone; that you had an ally. You needed to be loose of the burdens that you bare. For a moment, just a fleeting moment, you had that release?"

Dean's mouth tightened into a stubborn pinch as he fought hard against displaying any emotion, any further sign of flaw or weakness – any shame or guilt for his actions.

"Why will you take a step of faith believing in lust to redeem you but not –"

Castiel's statement was cut short by Dean jerking back trying to separate his face from Castiel's hands, eyes still pinched shut. His lips parted showing his gritted teeth. He tried to pull away from Castiel again, but Castiel held him firmly in place.

"It worked before!" Dean snapped, sucking in a breath through his nostrils in a futile attempt to regain his composure.

"Open your eyes, Dean," Castiel implored with the warm sincere tone that quelled Dean's anger and caused the angry tensed muscles of his face to relax, melting away his expression.

In that moment of choice between obedience and pride and choice between taking a literal meaning or a figurative piece of advice to heart – Dean raised his eyelids. He surveyed the dark room of the cabin, passively perceiving the sound of fluttering in the distance, somewhere beyond the cabin walls. He no longer felt the warm fingers against his rough cheeks. Sam lay asleep in the bed beside him unbothered by the hushed arguments and platitudes taking place just feet away.

Dean slumped backward hitting the pillow with a tired grunt. He went over all the words spoken in his mind, replaying the conversation like a cassette on his tape deck. He flexed his hands examining the crescent indents on his palm – evidence of the severity in the grip of his fist. He twisted his head to the side and gazed down at his shoulder. Straining for the proper angle he tucked his chin down to his chest. The raised marks of seared flesh that formed Castiel's handprint could be seen now in spite of the room's darkness.

"The fuck is he talking about?" Dean muttered, rolling over to put his cheek to his pillow – now more ready than ever for rest.


	3. Chapter 3

Smoke poured down the hallway, drifting upwards toward the ceiling. A virtual cloud covering now engulfed the premises. Dean peeked around the corner down of one hall into the next his eyes scanning as best they could. The smoke stung them and tears ran down his face trying to cleanse his irritated eyes. He had one arm curled around his nose and mouth – the leather of his jacket doing next to nothing to filter the smoke, but as with any 'if – than' circumstance he rationalized that the protection of his arm would be better than nothing.

"Come on," Dean coughed.

He meant to yell gruffly at the two women he had been shepherding, one tucked under his free arm and the other behind him, clinging tightly to the bottom half of his jacket. He had intended to sound a lot more in control of the situation, but the acrid smoke causing his eyes to painfully itch and water had begun to singe his lungs as well. He could only imagine how the Sisters felt. He had at least had plenty of experience with dangerous life threatening situations such as this to keep a cool head.

So he pressed ahead with one nun behind him and the other tucked under his arm, as if in the safety of his wing. He dropped his arm and pressed his hand to his face. He had to do more to keep going and wheezing against his forearm would do nothing for their survival. He felt the hand gripping the back hem of his jacket go lax. Dean halted as they moved down the hall. He turned around and he could barely make out forms through the haze. He lowered to his knees and the sister to his left followed suit. She had pulled her habit around to cover her face. He smirked. The Sister behind him had not fared so well. She lay on her back coughing violently.

Dean dropped the hand from his face and pulled away from the other Sister reaching out to the nun on the floor. He grabbed her wrists and pulled her up to sitting. Moving into a crouch he pulled her toward him and hoisted her up onto his shoulder, like a sack of potatoes. He turned back to the way they had been going. He could not make out the window he had previously been heading toward.

The Sister with her habit pulled tight to cover her mouth and nose, grabbed for his hand. Dean shook her off and cupped his face greedily, nodding ahead. She nodded back and together they moved forward. The fire had spread. Dean could hear it – crackling and damn near breathing in heavy gasps. He could feel the heat beating against his back. And the crackling only got louder even as they moved forward. A loud groan sounded reminding Dean of the sound of large four legged creatures yawning at the zoo – a rhino, maybe a hippo, or maybe even a really ornery mule with a bullhorn. Dean looked back and watched the wood ceiling just behind them crash down into a pile. He dropped his hand from his face and grabbed the sister's arm roughly just underneath her shoulder. He tightened his grip on the legs of the other nun that draped over his shoulder, her knees at his chest.

He could not make out anything past a foot in front of him thanks to the smoke, but Dean took off full speed, dragging the now apprehensive scared nun tightly at his side. He had a plan – albeit a bad plan, but it was the only one he had. He heard a slow building yawn and more crackling and popping of the fire attacking the wood of the historic church. He could have said a prayer or reflected on his life up until that point, but instead Dean sucked in a breath of bitter smoke and oxygen becoming in the process only a little dizzy. He had the length of the hall gauged when they had turned the corner. He had just begun to wonder where the hall ended and if it would ever end – if he had been stumbling the whole time he thought he had been running – when he lost his footing. His toe connected with something hard and unmoving. Dean plunged forward in a fall he could not break. He pulled the nun to his left with him and together they both flew forward, falling. The pain hit first before he heard any of the noise – the crash, the tinkling, the groan and the loud boom. Dean gulped in a breath of fresh air and looked up in a daze.

He had fallen through the window dragging the nun with him by the arm, the other lay half beneath him.

"Sam?" Dean called, before coughing loudly.

He tried to sit up, push himself off the poor nun lying beneath him motionless.

"Shit," he cursed looking over to the nun beside him, slowly pulling away from his hand still firmly clutching her arm.

"Sister, you okay?"

She coughed, but also nodded. He rolled off the other nun onto his back and took another gulp of air.

"Jesus Christ," he swore under his breath, turning his head and looking at the motionless Sister.

"Sam!" he yelled raising up his head slightly, looking around the courtyard of the church for his younger brother.

"Dean!"

Dean turned toward the voice shouting his name. Sam rounded the side of the church jogging and head turning as his eyes swept the surrounding area searching for his brother.

"SAM!" Dean called.

Sam's eyes scanned the grass and finally locked on Dean, lying just beyond the hedges that had surrounded the church building. Two nuns lay on either side of Dean, one coughing and sputtering as she lay curled up on the grass, the other motionless beside Dean, flat on his back, now beginning to cough as violently as the other nun. Sam broke into a run and slid down to the ground beside Dean.

"Are you okay? What the hell happened?"

Before Dean had a chance to reply, Sam glanced up at the broken frame of the stained glass window. Flames blew out shooting up at the sky. He surveyed the area finding glass littering the hedges and grass. Dean had tiny cuts all over his face and neck, a large gash scraped across the palm of his hand.

"Help her," Dean coughed out, nodding his head over at the Sister lying beside him. "She passed out inside. I-"

Another coughing fit interrupted Dean's explanation. Sam gave him an uncomfortable look, still worried for him more than anything, even if that meant a lapse in care for the nuns. He crawled over Dean's stretched out legs and pressed his fingers to the nun's neck.

"Sister Bernadette," coughed the other nun, reaching out and patting her unconscious companion on the shoulder to rouse her.

"Shit," Sam muttered, getting on the right side of Sister Bernadette.

He tilted her head back and used his thumb to nudge down her chin, opening her airway. He put his ear to her lips and listened. He sucked in a breath and pinched her nose shut, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers blowing in a puff.

Dean rolled over away from Sister Bernadette and away from Sam.

"Get up," he croaked, fighting to get on his hands and knees, feeling glass stabbing into his palms as he did.

"Get away from the window; the roof has been caving in." Dean ordered his brother, crawling forward to put more distance between him and the church.

Sam gulped and carefully slid an arm beneath Sister Bernadette's knees and the other beneath her back, lifting her up. The other nun began to crawl forward as well. Putting some distance between the building and them, Sam lay down Sister Bernadette and again began CPR.

"What happened?"

Dean turned to the small mousy voice of the younger of the two Sisters.

"Electrical fire," Dean lied, instantly calculating the different ways he'd just sinned.

"I don't understand. How can that just happen?"

"Sorry, Sister," Dean replied, "Them's the breaks,"

Sam was pumping on Bernadette's chest when suddenly she coughed and gasped. Sam rolled her onto her side and patted her back, trying to ease her into breathing.

"Fuck," Sister Bernadette swore, garnering a wide-eyed and shocked expression from Dean.

Despite having been just revived and fighting for every breath of oxygen while trying to cough out the smoke and soot that had caused her to stop breathing, she cupped her hand over her mouth in horror. Dean smiled.

"Welcome back."

"Oh my, Sister Bernadette," and the younger nun began to fawn over her middle aged companion, with concern and comfort.

Dean looked down at his bleeding palm. He coughed and hocked an enormous gob of grey spit onto the grass and looked up at Sam, towering above him, back on his feet. The sound of sirens wailing in the distance, but becoming louder as they approached filled the air.

"Let's skip the Five Oh shall we," Dean suggested, putting out his uninjured hand.

Sam grabbed hold and helped lift Dean up. A shard of blue painted glass stuck out of Dean's thigh about an inch above his knee. He hissed and reached to pick it.

"Shit, ow." He cursed yanking out the stained glass and tossing it to the ground.

He turned to look over his shoulder at the two nuns and smiled with a wink, giving them a slight wave as he hobbled along after Sam. "Sorry. Hail Mary and all that,"

"I'll drive," Sam less than offered, more demanded.

With no fight left after battling out of a burning church, Dean reached into his jeans pocket and tossed Sam the keys. He hobbled now holding his injured palm against his chest, pressing it against the fabric of his t-shirt to hold pressure and stop the bleeding. His good hand he had pressed tight against the puncture wound on his leg.

"Where the hell were you while I was roasting about to become the Lord's Supper?"

"The other side of the building to check out the chapel." Sam answered, with a patented 'stating the obvious' expression on his face, "The hell were you doing in the rectory?"

"Apparently, shepherding penguins through the flames,"

"Good work, by the way. You probably saved their lives,"

"Probably?" Dean questioned.

"Trying to give the Lord some credit for divine intervention,"

"Yeah, it was called ME,"

"You okay?" Sam asked, ignoring the prideful claim.

"I now know how a brisket truly feels and I think I may be bleeding to death. Hurry back to the motel,"

"You need a hospital. Your leg is pretty bad," Sam argued.

Dean looked down and saw that blood was pouring from all four spaces between his fingers. He sighed and gulped, a little dazed as he watched the dark red seep despite how tightly he pressed his hand. He reached for his belt and unbuckled it, sliding it from the loops in his jeans. Expertly he looped it around his thigh and jerked it tight, giving himself a tourniquet.

"Seems to help when I do that," He offered. "A few homemade stitches and I'll be great. Get to the motel."

Sam pressed his foot harder on the gas and drove while Dean covered the gash on his palm with the hem of his t-shirt and wound it around, sighing and leaning back against the seat.

"Did you find it, by the way?" he asked Sam, looking over at his brother with a weary glance to accompany the afterthought.

Sam shook his head. "I had barely covered the chapel and the rooms outside it when I smelled the smoke and saw the fire. I went looking for you,"

"Great," Dean groaned. "I was afraid of that,"

Sam shrugged and replied in a disappointed tone. "I tried,"

"I know, Sammy. Me too,"

The stitched wound on Dean's leg itched incessantly beneath the heavy denim of his dark blue jeans. He absently lowered his palm to rub the offending sting and as he had done a number of times that night and paused just before connecting skin to fabric. He knew better than to worry the injury with a scratch that could tear out the stitches. He had covered it with a bandage and gauze, but he had done similar stupid things in the past and ended with more blood stained jeans and another episode of stitching his flesh back together. The memory of having flesh torn, bound back together and ripped apart again still hung fresh in his mind – the memories of a lifetime in hell. With a haunted shudder he lifted his whiskey glass and took a healthy sip. He did not even hiss at the sting of the liquor cascading down his throat.

He sat at an anonymous bar, in an anonymous midsize city, across the street from an anonymous motel where he assumed Sam had stayed behind. Dean had stayed with his brother long enough to recover from the breaths of smoke he'd taken in, stitch his leg and palm wounds shut, super glue the assorted superficial scratches that had peppered his face and neck and get a shower in. Once he'd gotten out of the shower he'd changed his clothes and offered the explanation "Going across the street to that bar" and to his knowledge Sam had just nodded from behind the glowing screen of his lap top.

Dean turned the glass, giving the amber liquid a slosh, the two melting cubes of ice clinked against the sides of the glass. He had his jaw set causing his lips to rest in a pout. The worry lines that creased his forehead matched the squint of his eyes. He looked like a man that needed to be left alone – and he hoped that his appearance would be warning enough to anyone who thought he needed a shoulder to lean on or a friendly ear.

He could have been thinking about the church. He should have been thinking about the fire and what it could have possibly destroyed. Dean rolled the cubes around in the glass, watching one follow the other – a dog chasing its tail, around and around it goes. He gave no warning and tipped back his head and the glass followed, pouring all its contents between his lips – his teeth straining out the cubes which clinked into the empty glass, applause of sorts for finishing his beverage.

Dean set the glass onto the bar counter with a smack, signaling time for a refill. The bar tender turned at the sound, his eyes had been locked on the small TV hanging from the ceiling in a corner watching a baseball game that he had no time to care anything about. Dean slipped a ten-dollar bill next to the glass to pay in advance for his $6 double on the rocks. He had already put away two. The male bar tender sauntered over, now suddenly at Dean's service, and emptied his glass, dropping three cubes into the empty glass with a scoop and then pouring in a healthy double shot. He lifted the ten and held it midair, going through the motions of courtesy, Dean shook his head at the bar back, letting him know there would be no need to give him his four dollars in change.

"Dean,"

Dean's pulse jumped suddenly and he whipped his head in the direction of the voice. He could not help but make a mental note that he could have been killed six times over as close as Castiel stood to him. Times like these it more than just irked him to have the angel appear without warning. Dean didn't doubt he'd strolled into the bar just like any human and simply walked up to him, but Dean hadn't had any forewarning, no sixth sense tingling and certainly not heard any falling footsteps. Dean stared blankly zeroing his eyes in on Castiel's for good measure and tipped his head to the stool beside him.

"Have a seat," Dean offered, lifting the glass in salute before taking a light sip. "What brings you to my office?"

Castiel did not so much as grin at the pun. He eased onto the stool, eyes never leaving the sight of his charge – those wonderfully dark blue eyes warm when they should have been nothing but cold unfeeling stone. The kind of stone you could cast at a sinner and never feel a bit of guilt for doing so – that's what Castiel's eyes could have and should have been. Uriel had the stone cold unaffected stare down pat. Castiel could have pierced Kevlar with the way he often stared, especially when he stared at Dean. At least that is how Dean perceived it.

"You were not able to recover the statue?" Castiel asked, or rather, stated the obvious.

"Nope," Dean shrugged trying to seem indifferent but ending up looking comfortably defeated.

Castiel let out a noise somewhere between disappointment and a growl. Dean's upper lip curved into an irritating smirk and he rolled his eyes to glance over at the angel in disguise.

"That's what I said," He switched his glass to his injured hand, wrapped in a cloth bandage around the center of his palm, and brought his other hand down in an exaggerated comforting slap on Castiel's knee, "But on the upside I saved a pair of penguins batting for your team,"

With a full grin and a short laugh he retracted his hand and took a swig of his whiskey. Castiel rested his tan cloth covered elbows on the bar and looked away from Dean.

"What'ya have?" the bar tender asked on his way back from the television he had been staring at.

Dean glanced over and saw the game had gone to a commercial. He ignored the exchange between Castiel and the bar tender in favor of the depiction of pickup trucks racing through rough rock terrain – a metaphor for galloping horses that would call to every boy trapped inside a man who had played cowboys and Indians as a kid. He glanced back to Castiel and eyed the glass that had been placed down in front of the angel – a snifter. The bartender stood at the rack of bottles with his back to the pair.

"You order a double holy water on the rocks? I got bad news for ya. It's not going to be the same drink you're thinking of."

Castiel slowly turned his head and looked his eyes met Dean's, squinting slightly before turning back to the bar tender now pouring liquid from bottle into his glass. Dean cocked his head thoughtfully, reading the lettering on the label. He snickered and moved to bring the glass to his lips, but hesitated and set it down as a second thought.

"Christian Brothers Brandy, that's cute," Dean commented coolly with a spicy smile playing upon his lips. "Are you even allowed to do that?"

"Imbibe?" Castiel asked, looking down at the drink and running his hand over the curve of the glass to its stem where he rested his fingertips, allowing a small smile of his own to curve his usually impassive lips, "These beverages are aptly named spirits. And I am also a spiritual being,"

"Well, if that's how we're counting it. I'm planning to get pretty Pope-like tonight,"

Castiel shifted only his eyes over to Dean and spoke, "I sincerely hope you don't mean that,"

Dean continued to smirk and lifted his glass to his lips. He wanted very much to inquire as to whether that had been a warning not to mock the Pope or if Castiel had somehow decided to give him a cynical tidbit of Holy-gossip.

"What'd you come in here for?" Dean asked instead of pressing the Pope crack, "Not to watch me get drunk, and I'm damn positive not for a nice glass of brandy before bed,"

"The statue," Castiel answered, reminding Dean of the fire in the church and of course that he and Sam had failed to procure a very old artifact beforehand.

"Well, I'm sure the other side laid waste to it if it's as important to destroy as I would guess. That church had a lot of wooden crap in it,"

"It wouldn't matter if the statue had been destroyed in the fire and it does not appear to have been,"

Dean looked over, at Castiel, now moderately interested in the angel's cryptic statements. Castiel lifted the brandy snifter and as Dean had done with the ice cubes, swirled the liquid inside, watching it coat the sides as it swished, the trough of the wave of liquor chasing the peak.

"Dog chasing its tail," Dean muttered aloud, removing his eyes from staring at the glass in order to roll them coincidentally just as Castiel shot his patented piercing gaze straight at him.

"We searched the remains while the fire raged,"

"Nice," Dean retorted with a thickly venomous tone to his voice, "Thanks for that. I'm glad you decided to take a stroll through the fire while I almost became a crispy critter. Why did you send Sam and me after this damn statue in the first place?"

"I told you before, Dean," he bit out purposefully, "There are other battles. Our numbers are limited,"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean complained, taking a gulp from his glass, frustrated, "So you keep saying."

"And you do not believe –"

Dean cut him off before he could further misinterpret Dean's words or reasoning, "Look, I believe you. I just don't like how I risk my neck and you could have strolled on into that fire no problem - "

"Dean, I did not know there would _be_ a fire," Castiel now interrupted. "I thought the task could be managed,"

Dean gritted his teeth and slugged back the remained her of his drink, reaching back with his favored arm to pull out his wallet. Castiel's arm shot over, catching Dean's wrist, holding him in pause.

"Stop,"

"Blow me,"

The words left Dean's mouth before he could stop them. His eyes instantly opened wider and he swallowed a nervous gulp, cautiously drawing his arm back pulling away from Castiel and draped it casually along the edge of the bar.

"You need to know this," said the angel, turning his head back so that he stared straight ahead, avoiding even looking at Dean, let alone speaking directly to him staring him right in the eyes. "That statue contains something very important,"

"Well, they got it," Dean assumed, "So, oops, another fumble for the home team. Looks like we're not making it to the playoffs,"

"This is not a game," Castiel quickly replied in an icy, serious tone.

He now turned to Dean completely, swiveling on the stool. He cocked his head to the side and glared at him through narrow eyes.

"There will be hell on this Earth, Dean. There is still a chance to regain the spear before the next seal can be broken,"

"The spear? What the hell? You told us we were searching for a statue of the Holy Mother,"

Castiel's eyes bore into Dean, becoming more intense at the sound of indignation coating Dean's voice. Dean stared back in disbelief and what could have gone undetected to a less astute being – hurt.

Dean quickly reached into his back pocket and pulled out another ten-dollar bill. He slapped it on the counter beside Castiel's untouched drink and turned on the stool sliding off. He began to stalk away from the bar, his leg awkwardly hitching with a slight limp as he moved trying not to disturb the stitches beneath the fabric and bandage.

He shoved the door to the bar open and stepped into the cool night air. The smell of burning hung in the air like a fine summer day with too many barbecues going on in suburbia. Dean knew the truth about the scent, no barbecues and at the tail end of winter, in the middle of Missouri – a Catholic Mecca. Three towns over and he could still smell the torched church. He stiffened as the door swung open behind him.

Castiel stepped to the space beside him and roughly took hold of Dean's arm. Dean's eyes widened in surprise and quickly turned to rage when Castiel yanked him to the left toward the corner of the building and away from the entrance to the bar.

"Had you known what the statue protected it would not have mattered nor would it have assisted you in the task –"

"You lied to me," Dean blurted out, "That's what matters about this. You lied to me when you took me back in time and told me I 'had to stop it'. You made me think I could fix the past and stop what happened to my parents – to my mom! So what, that you had a nice moral of the story to end with, you lied then by omission and not explaining to me what the hell was really going on! You lied about smiting that town over the raising of Samhain. But, oh, that's okay, because you were testing me under battlefield conditions. And I'm supposed to trust you when to this day you're lying to me about even little things you ask me to fetch!"

Dean's back nearly broke when Castiel grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and shoved him hard against the brick wall of the bar. Dean grunted and instinctively reached for the wrists of the angel. Castiel had a purely feral expression – the expression he had seen in the barn, seen when Castiel had single-mindedly stalked toward Alistaire to destroy him – all fury and passion. Dean quickly changed direction of his arms and lowered them, bringing them up between Castiel's wrists, spreading them to force Castiel's arms apart and to release Dean's collar.

"Fuck," he choked out when his usual hold-breaking tactics did not result in his release.

With that fierce expression still intact if not more so aroused by Dean's immediate attempt to break his hold, he cocked his head to the side and explored Dean's expression with intense blue eyes ending locked on Dean's. Dean's green eyes shone back, the fear that had lit up when he couldn't break the hold upon him faded and in it's place rose something else, again – that hurt he had just seen in the bar.

"Are you going to throw me back in?" Dean asked, his words now slightly slurring.

Castiel relented and eased his grip. His expression returned to flat and unfeeling. He let his stare linger as his eyes softened and then turned away, looking up to the sky.

"I get it," Dean added in a hushed voice just above a whisper, "Not your call to make,"

"I am a soldier," Castiel answered.

"And soldiers follow orders, yeah, I know that line,"

"Sometimes,"

Castiel's hands loosened and he lowered his chin, staring eye to eye with Dean once more.

"What?"

"You," Castiel answered, his voice eerily calm, preventing Dean from becoming angry at the cryptic utterances.

"I don't follow orders?" Dean asked, "Yeah, not when it's going to end in a bloodbath for innocent people or it means someone's going to hurt my family – my brother,"

"And when I told you to open your eyes – to see beyond what you only _think_ is there. Did you even entertain the thought of doing so?"

"I thought you meant to open my eyes right then and when I did, of course, you'd flown the coop, literally,"

Castiel shook his head, with a gentle nod.

"You didn't tell us we were searching for a statue with a surprise inside because I didn't take heart to some metaphor you cleverly made in the night after you woke me up from a dead sleep to chit chat?" Dean growled out in disbelief.

"Telling you that a statue held inside it the spear that pierced Christ's side would not have helped you locate it. You cannot perceive the interior of objects with your mortal sight, Dean. The information had no value. And if you had located the statue and obtained it before the fire, you would have very shortly found out the true importance aside from humbling inspiration the image of a Virgin Mother has brought to those who look upon her."

Dean's mind swam and he tried to digest the words, amidst the flowery speech. He had never been one particularly impressed by the beauty of art – he enjoyed depictions of the female form, but not of a virginal mother decked head to toe in cloth. He liked his virgins depicted in a far different way. Castiel's reverent description for some odd reason irked him. His lips curved into a wicked smile as he determined that the silken words his holiest of companions had used sounded to him like the angelic equivalent to erotic narration.

"Okay, I guess we wouldn't have found it with or without knowing about the Spear, but maybe we would have tried harder,"

"You would have kept searching even into the fire," Castiel interjected.

"Probably," Dean admitted.

Castiel's hands relaxed completely and he let go of Dean. Dean shrugged off the hands leaving his collar. He looked down at his hands – one bandaged and the other bare, but his fingers ever so slightly trembling. He looked back up at Castiel. The awe inspiring figure took a step closer to Dean who let out a withheld breath smelling of whiskey – a sweet spicy smell, not at all what the angel had expected.

"Then we should rejoice that I followed my orders and kept you in the dark,"

"Yeah, well," Dean faltered losing his train of thought, trying to think of some sort of clever witty retort having to do with being in the dark.

Instead, he stood still and pressed his lips together, unsure of what his intent had been before he had tried to storm out of the bar in order to make a point that he could not be so easily toyed with. He swallowed letting the sound of his throats movements be the only sound in the still air between them. And the angel began to look at him curiously; the same look in his eyes from just moments before, searching Dean's for a clue or a hint of what passed for thoughts in Dean's mind.

"I still want to know," Dean asked quietly returning to the loose end made by their conversation, "What did you mean the other night when you told me to open my eyes?"

Though the question had been honest as he had yet to solve the riddle of Castiel's words, he felt his pulse quicken with anticipation. He held his breath as he peered into blue depths narrowing his eyes to analytically read those of Castiel in return. His pulse seemed to thicken with a deeper thudding of his heartbeat. It seemed to make more sense now with more than a few glasses of whiskey down the hatch. Dean swallowed waiting for the response when suddenly a clenching in his stomach usually reserved for the opposite sex hit him.

"I don't hold you prisoner in the dark, Dean. I bathe you in shadow in order to protect you from truths that would blind you the way my visage, although holy and pure, blinded that poor woman,"

Dean blinked and with the tension so thick between them he could feel the texture of the air he sucked in for breath. He tried to keep his breathing slow. He tried not to inhale too quickly or too eagerly. He tried to keep his face from reflecting emotion. He tried to stay calm.

"And through this shadow I have in turn learned of the many shades of gray that form the edges between black and white,"

"We're not talking color swatches are we?" Dean asked, brazenly attempting to shatter the tension.

Castiel shook his head allowing for a wounded frown to play upon his lips.

"And this has to do with Anna, doesn't it,"

Castiel stared with the same wounded frown, not even attempting to deny the inkling of emotions he had been forbidden to feel – any emotions, anything besides faith and obedience, anything uniquely human. Dean had no idea how this could be possible, maybe by way of the whiskey if nothing else, that he saw something glimmering behind the eyes of the vessel. He saw something very much not a puppet for the angel to use like the rest of the meat suit.

"And within that spectrum is the capacity to become lost in the moment and be innocent in the midst of falling – yet with her you shed the hardened shell that you use to protect yourself from even me."

Dean stood quietly, his body stiffening with each word as the thoughts of this angel unfolded before him, like the foreboding and terrifying shadow of wings had unfurled the night Dean had summoned him. Dean's stiff body went lax only for the fact his skin broken into chills beneath his warm leather jacket and beneath his thick denim jeans. He took a step forward, tentative and unsure, but willing – willingly and blindly stepping closer to the angel and the unknown a familiar feeling well up inside him.

"And you became vulnerable in your earnest need," Castiel's voice dropped to a raspy whisper, that Dean had to lean in a little closer to hear.

"For compassion and for comfort,"

Castiel took a step forward putting him toe-to-toe and eye-to-eye with Dean. His charge gazed at him willing but also gazing with the ever present glimmer of hesitancy - an ember searching for a breath of doubt to fuel resentful flame.

"Open your eyes, Dean. See that I am the same one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition. I held you together as we ascended. I found the last shreds of your humanity and gave you the strength to knit them back together into the semblance of your former self. I poured you back into your broken body. And with my grace I …"

Castiel's words fell short when his forehead touched against Dean's. He felt the short gasp of breath before Dean's eyes lowered shut and he leaned tilted his head down, putting just a little more space between them.

"With my grace I could give you the breath of life,"

Dean gasped the tiniest of breaths. He did not mean to breathe with the sharp raspy intake of breath, but the heat causing his face to flush commanded him to try to calm down and cool the rest of himself. He flinched and pressed forward his lips connecting to those of the angel. Immediately he felt dizzy with too many waves cresting and then crashing within him – shame, doubt, elation, need, relief and last just a dash of flattered lust.

Castiel's lips gently brushed Dean's enough to detect the faintest trace of whiskey and the flavor unique only to his charge. He could remember the faint taste as he woke the body and the spirit while reuniting the two. He could not let Dean open his eyes and take in the sight of him. He had held him that way for an instant, but to Castiel it had felt like an eternity. Having performed his appointed task obediently he could recall tearing away from Dean as he took in his first breath back on Earth.

"In the coffin," Dean breathed against Castiel's lips, "You…"

"Gave you part of my being so that you might live,"

It felt the way skydiving must. Dean brought up his bandaged hand and grimaced with the pain as he cupped Castiel's cheek and held him still. Dean's lips crushed against those of the other and the sinful feeling passed. The spinning out of control feeling took over. The rapid beating heart in his chest took center stage. The arms circling his waist, fully enveloping him, made him feel safe and caused the most insane sense of warmth to well up inside him. This, he knew he had never felt. Dean opened his eyes and looked into the defense melting eyes of Castiel. Pulling back from Dean, Castiel returned the glance.

"Thanks?" Dean offered, not sure if for the sacrifice that had returned him to life or the exceptionally life altering kiss.

"Good things do happen,"

"You ain't shittin," Dean croaked with a smirk, looking away in amusement at his own words.

He heard the loud flapping and his smirk soured into a pained expression. His hand dropped back to his side empty and the warmth dissipated from around him. He did not dare look up. He did not dare avert his eyes and look up to double check. Eyes to the ground he took a step forward in the direction of the motel.


End file.
